Luparia didn't sleep.
It prepared.
It was not the quiet, restless stir of a place merely coming to life, but the sharp, purposeful hum of a fortress gearing up for slaughter. Torches blazed along the high stone walls, casting dancing orange light across the cobblestone courtyards. In that flickering glow, warriors moved with a speed and discipline forged into their very marrow.
The forges roared in the western wing. Steel screamed against whetstones. Armor was reforged and reinforced in minutes, the rhythmic clang of hammers striking metal ringing out like a heartbeat—steady, relentless, and powerful. There was no room for error. Every link in the chainmail had to hold. Lives depended on the perfection of the forge.
In the stables, horses sensed the electricity in the air. Their nostrils flared, hooves stamping against the straw. They were ready for the ride, their muscles coiled like springs.
Luparia was shifting, transforming from a home into a machine of war. Beneath the activity, there was a terrifying order. No one panicked. No one hesitated. They simply did what was required of them.
In the central courtyard, the thousand Lycans of the Elite Guard began to assemble. They formed up in perfect, geometric rows—a wall of dark, lightweight steel that caught the torchlight in glints of silver and blood-red.
A thousand warriors.
A thousand predators.
They stood in absolute, unnatural silence. No chatter. No shifting of feet. They were as still as the stone walls, a collective mass of muscle and intent that seemed to breathe as one.
On a stone balcony overlooking the ranks, Byron and Claude stood watching. The Draconian leaned against the railing, his arms crossed, scanning the formation with a critical, appreciative gaze. He had seen armies before, but there was something different about the Lycans. Something raw and primal, yet contained within a structure that was unbreakable.
"They move fast," Claude murmured.
"Always," I replied. I didn't need to boast. The discipline spoke for itself.
Claude gestured to the sea of dark figures below. "A thousand. Your best?"
"The elite of the elite," I said.
Below us, the captain of the guard raised his fist. The movement was sharp—a lightning strike in the dark.
The courtyard fell into a silence so absolute it felt physical. Even the distant roar of the forges seemed to dim. They were ready. That was enough.
I stepped to the very edge of the balcony. The cold mountain wind whipped at my cloak, but my focus was locked on the thousand faces turned upward. I didn't feel the "weight of responsibility." I felt the clarity of a blade being drawn.
"Warriors of Luparia!"
My voice rang out, deep and resonant, filling every corner of the stone valley.
"The dwarves have been attacked."
A low, grave murmur rippled through the ranks—not fear, but a deep, rumbling anger like distant thunder. They knew the ancient pacts. They knew that an attack on one was a threat to the pack.
"They held their ground," I continued, my voice steady. "But we all know the truth."
I paused, letting the silence build, letting the reality sink into their bones.
"The demons will return."
Hands tightened on hilts. The tension in the courtyard grew thick, electric. Demons did not accept defeat. If they had been driven back once, they would return stronger, hungrier, and more determined to erase us.
"We will not let another clan fight alone while the demons hunt us one by one," I barked, my voice growing fierce. "We stand apart in peace, but when the darkness rises, we stand together. Or we fall alone."
I drew my sword. The steel sang as it slid from the scabbard, gleaming deadly in the torchlight.
"We march."
A pause.
"Now."
A low roar, contained but powerful, swept through the formation. It was the sound of a people ready to do what they were born for.
Claude looked at me, his expression grim. "And if it's already too late? If the demons have already finished the slaughter?"
I turned my head slightly, a faint, lethal smile touching my lips. "Then we'll arrive just in time for the battle."
The massive gates began to groan open. The iron leaves creaked as they swung outward, and the iron bridge lowered over the great chasm with the resonant grind of heavy chains.
One by one, the riders advanced. A thousand black shadows under the light of a full, silver moon.
Byron mounted his black stallion at the head of the column. The beast stood steady, eyes alert. Claude rode up beside him on his obsidian-scaled Draconian mount.
"So," Claude said, cutting through the night air. "To the mountains?"
I nodded, my gaze fixed on the horizon. "We won't let them stand alone."
The column was just about to clear the bridge when the silence of the night was shattered.
BRUUUUUUUUM.
The war trumpet blared from the top of the walls—sharp, urgent, and echoing with alarm. It was not the call of departure.
Then another. And another.
The riders on the bridge pulled up sharply, horses rearing. The column froze.
I looked up, my eyes narrowing as I scanned the battlements. "That's not a departure signal..."
Claude was already squinting, his Draconian vision sharpening as he leaned over the wall. His expression shifted from curiosity to shock, then to a cold, hard rage.
"Wait..."
"What do you see?" I demanded.
"Movement on the plain," Claude growled. "Small figures. Running toward the fortress."
He focused his vision, his pupils slitting.
"Dwarves."
They were running, their short legs pumping with every ounce of strength they had. They were clutching weapons, carrying their wounded, looking back over their shoulders as if death itself was at their heels.
And they were not alone.
Behind them, monstrous shadows moved with terrifying speed. They loped across the grass, eyes glowing with malevolent light. They were closing the gap like wolves pursuing sheep.
"They're going to catch them!" Claude roared, his voice tight with frustration.
I saw it too. I saw the fear in the distance, the monsters closing in, and the fire in my blood finally boiled over. This was why we were here.
Claude turned to me, urgent. "Byron! The archers—"
I didn't wait for archers. I didn't wait for a plan.
I drew my sword, the blade flashing like a lightning bolt in the moonlight, and my eyes—usually a deep brown—flashed a brilliant, intense red. The wolf was at the surface.
"ELITE GUARD!"
My voice roared over the sound of the trumpets. Below, on the bridge, the thousand Lycans looked up instantly.
I took a step to the very edge of the wall. Below me was a sheer drop of a hundred meters onto the rocky ground.
Claude stared at me, eyes wide. "Are you insane?"
I smiled—a wild, fierce expression that belonged to the beast within. "We'll get there before them."
I didn't hesitate. I jumped.
My figure plummeted, a black shadow against the moon, falling fast and free. As I dropped, my voice roared out one last time, echoing across the plains.
"ELITE GUARD!! FOLLOW ME!!"
I hit the ground with a thunderous crash, my boots slamming into the earth with enough force to crack the very soil. I absorbed the impact, rolling once to disperse the energy, and was on my feet in an instant. My sword was out. My eyes were fixed on the slaughter ahead.
Claude watched from the wall, shaking his head. "That damn Lycan..."
He didn't waste time. He turned to the soldiers on the wall. "Open the gates! All the way! Archers, get ready, but hold your fire until you have a clear shot! Don't hit our people!"
Down below, I was already a blur across the grassy plain. My speed was unnatural, my form a streak of shadow racing toward the fleeing dwarves.
The dwarves ran.
The demons closed in.
And Byron—
He was already there.